


something spreading underground

by wariangle



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:32:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1647122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wariangle/pseuds/wariangle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Laeta meets Kore, falls in love, and joins a revolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	something spreading underground

“We are spending the summer in London the very centre of high society and you make friends with a nurse! What was that girl even doing at Lord Crassus’ gathering?”

“I do not know, mother,” Laeta sighs. She doesn’t turn to face her mother; she is too busy gazing out the window looking out over the street for Kore’s arrival.

“Is she the bastard daughter of a lord?”

That is certainly enough to make her turn from the window. “Mother!”

Her mother has been in a foul mood ever since they arrived in the city, despite her constant stream of praise of London and all the delights it has to offer, but this is more than Laeta cares to hear.

“Well, one does have to wonder, does one not?” Rebecca says, lifting an eyebrow.

Laeta just shakes her head and turns back to the window, just in time to catch a glimpse of Kore disappearing through their front door.

“She is here,” she tells her mother. “Please be gracious.”

Camille shows a flustered Kore into the sitting room and Laeta gives her a smile and moves to kiss her cheek.

“Welcome,” she says, pressing Kore’s hands between hers. “This is my mother, Lady Rebecca en Valle. Mother, this is Kore Abbott.”

“It is an honour to meet you, milady,” Kore says with a deep curtsey.

“Likewise,” Rebecca says archly. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you, madam,” Kore replies but does not move until Laeta leads her over to the couch. They sit down together as her mother rings for tea.

“My Laeta tells me the two of you became acquainted during Lord Crassus’ dinner two weeks past,” Rebecca says. “It seems an unusual place for a girl like yourself.”

“Yes, madam,” Kore says, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. Laeta does not blame her – her mother causes similar reactions in her daily. “I work at the hospital and assisted when the Lord’s son was trampled by a horse in the street. He was grateful for what help I could offer.”

“Don’t be bashful,” Laeta says and gives Kore a small nudge. “You saved the boy’s life.”

“I heard about it,” Rebecca says. “It was a terrible accident.”

“It was, madam,” Kore agrees, looking solemn.

They are interrupted by the arrival of the tea, which Laeta serves.

“Have a biscuit, miss Abbott. They are lemon-flavoured and delicious,” Rebecca says and Laeta smiles behind her teacup, certain that Kore is winning her mother over.

 

“Your mother is a formidable woman,” Kore says as Laeta is walking her home. They’re taking the longer route, pleased to be out in the pleasant summer air and each other’s company.

“She likes you,” Laeta says.

“She does?” Kore raises an eyebrow. “I thought she would be in despair over the lowly company her daughter keeps.”

“Oh, I am sure she is that too,” Laeta replies airly. “But I still think she likes you.”

Kore laughs, before growing serious and leaning in close to Laeta to quietly say, “Will you be at the meeting tomorrow night?”

“I…” Laeta casts a look over her shoulder, but Camille is walking a few steps behind them, unable to overhear. “I do not know,” she says. “I want to, but mother would murder me if she found out.”

“Who would tell her?” Kore says. “No one there will say anything. And it is just a meeting. It is quite safe, I promise you.”

“I would have to slip out,” Laeta says, biting her lip. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Kore looks disappointed, but she nods. “I understand.” She presses a brief kiss to Laeta’s cheek. “It’s not so far to the hospital – I’ll walk the rest of the way myself.”

“I will see you soon,” Laeta says. “And perhaps… Perhaps next time.”

“Perhaps,” Kore says.

 

“Are you certain of this?” Kore asks, hand stroking along the silk skirt of one of the many dresses laid out on Laeta’s bed. She is down to her corset and underskirt, ready to put any of the dresses on, but evidently hesitant to do so.

“You are free to wear anything of mine, if you want to,” Laeta says. “If not, wear your own dress. It is beautiful.”

“Not like these,” Kore says, holding up one in peach and cream. It is a horrid match to Laeta’s red hair and as a result she has never worn it, but it would look so lovely on Kore.

“Try it on,” Laeta says. “Here, let me help you.”

Kore nods. “Please.”

Slowly, Laeta unties Kore’s corset and tightens it gently. It is oddly intimate; her maid helps her to this everyday, but it has never felt like this. Kore’s body is warm and Laeta is standing a step too close, near enough to feel the breath she pulls in as the corset tightens. Laeta reties it and then lets her hands slide forward to rest against Kore’s waist. Kore leans against her, a minute movement, and Laeta holds her breath as she pushes her nose to the skin beneath Kore’s ear where her scent is most delectable. Kore does not move away and Laeta leaves a brief kiss to the nape of her neck before straightening and reaching out for the dress.

She holds it up as Kore steps into it and helps pulling all the fabric in place. Methodically, she fastens all the hooks in the back and smooth out the skirt. When she is done, she turns Kore around by her hand to see the result.

The dress is a tad too small, the fabric stretched a little too tightly over Kore’s shoulders and ribs, but other than that it is perfect.

“You are a vision, my dear,” Laeta says, leading her over to the mirror.

Kore laughs at the sight of herself in the glass. “I look odd – I barely recognise myself,” she says. “But it is strangely nice.”

Their fingers are twined together and the feeling of intimacy is still heavy between them. Kore turns from the mirror to her. “Let me return the favour,” she says.

“Yes,” Laeta says and turns around, pulling her hair out of the way, to let Kore undress her.

She cannot put into words what she feels as Kore slides the sleeves from her shoulders and down her arms, but it makes her skin tingle and fizzle like gaslight.

For the evening she has selected her light green dress and when Kore is done she goes to get it out from the closet.

“I like you in blue,” Kore says, a little shyly, her fingers on the hem of a deep blue dress on the bed.

For some reason, her words causes Laeta to flush and she is suddenly feeling exposed standing in nothing but her underwear in front of Kore. “That one is too warm for tonight,” she says even as she is tempted to put it on just for Kore’s sake, comfort be damned. “It’s not a summer gown.”

“Well,” Kore says and takes the dress Laeta has brought from the closet. “This one is beautiful as well.”

She helps Laeta into the dress and as she laces it up in the back Laeta closes her eyes to the feel of Kore’s breath against her neck.

 

Laeta is in the library reading when her mother walks in. Laeta is too engaged in her novel to notice her mother’s presence until Rebecca starts to speak.

“When I invited Miss Abbott to our dinner party, I did not mean that you should spend the entire eve whispering together,” Rebecca says. “You barely as much as glanced at the other guests!”

“I was perfectly cordial, mother,” Laeta says, still without looking up.

“Well, that isn’t enough,” Rebecca snaps.

“What is this, mother?” Laeta slams her book shut. “Why are you acting like this? You have never cared much about the company I keep or how much small talk I make at parties before.”

“It is different here,” Rebecca says. “We are in the city now. People talk.”

“People talk everywhere.”

“Please, Laeta,” Rebecca says. “Don’t get too attached to the girl.”

“She is my friend,” Laeta says.

Camille steps into the library, thankfully interrupting what is in all probability the prelude to a nasty conflict. “Miss Abbott is here to see you, Miss Laeta,” she says.

“Is she?” Laeta rises and ignores her mother’s stern look. “I was not expecting her. Show her in.”

“She wants you to come to the door,” Camille says.

Intrigued, Laeta leaves the library, heading for the front door. Kore is in the hallway, with reddened cheeks and shining eyes.

She presses Laeta’s hands. “Come out in the street. You must see this!”

Her excitement is catching and Laeta lets herself be pulled her outside in the sweltering London heat. A bicycle is parked on the street.

“It’s mine!” Kore says, smiling widely.

It isn’t new; the metal is dull and dusty with use, but it is a magnificent thing nevertheless.

“It’s wonderful,” Laeta says, returning Kore’s smile. “Is it hard to use?”

“Not after some practice,” Kore replies. “Would you like to try?”

The bike seems suddenly less wonderful and a lot more intimidating.

“I’ll help you,” Kore assures her.

“Oh, well then,” Laeta says. It is growing increasingly difficult to say no to Kore. “Please don’t let me make a spectacle of myself in the street.”

“I will not,” Kore promises.

She holds the bicycle steady as Laeta gracelessly clambers atop of it. She has to hitch up her skirts to do so, high enough that her calves are showing.

“Put your feet on the pedals,” Kore says. Not releasing her grip on the bicycle for even a second, she moves so that she is behind it. “Try and peddle. I will not let go.”

It takes some time before Laeta gets the hang of it, the bicycle wildly swerving from side to side, but once she does she feels the exhilaration swooping in her stomach and she even pedals a few yards without Kore helping her.

“I am green with envy,” Laeta says when they are back inside drinking lemonade to cool off.

“You are free to borrow it,” Kore says, setting her glass down with a clink. “I apologise, but I have to leave now.”

Laeta leans in close. “A meeting?”

Kore nods.

Laeta squeezes her hand and takes a deep breath. “Next meeting,” she says, “I will come with you.”

 

Riding a bicycle is nothing compared to this, Laeta thinks. Her heart is pounding heavily, from excitement and nervousness. She should not be nervous, really. At first glance there is nothing illicit about the affair, even if a dozen women squeezed into the cramped apartments of the Steele family may seem a bit strange.

Mrs Naevia Steele is an awe-inspiring woman and as she talks, Laeta feels something grow and expand inside her chest, a feeling of triumph and decisiveness. They can do this, they _will_ do this – in the face of Mrs Steele’s bone hard determination there is no other possibility.

Laeta has read all of the pamphlets Kore has been giving her, those proclaiming the need for rights for women: rights to education, the vote, political power. It is, however, an entirely different thing sitting here among these women listening to Mrs Steele’s passionate speech.

“The opposition is growing desperate and ever more immoral,” she says, with something unreadable moving in her eyes. There’s a scar on her cheek, from a deep cut. “In their attempts to keep even the most basic of human rights from us they lock us up in prisons and asylums, and in the streets policemen are allowed to use the most despicable methods to bring us to heel. To them, we are something more lowly even than women and so they can, they think, do as they wish with us. We will show them how wrong they are in this.”

Before the meeting breaks up, Mrs Steele hands out pamphlets and posters to all of them. “Put these up on every street corner, every wall,” she says. “Spread the word.”

“What a woman,” Laeta says to Kore as they are walking home, Kore pulling her bicycle beside her. Around them, the shadows are lengthening and mother will not be pleased with how late Laeta will be home. With the newly kindled resolve burning inside of her, however, she cannot bring herself to care much. “And what courage to keep the meetings in her home! Her husband does not mind?”

“No,” Kore replies. “He supports the cause.”

“And her face?” Laeta cannot help but ask. “Is it a result of… of the cause?”

Kore’s eyes flicker to hers. “Yes,” she says.

“Do you know what happened?”

Kore shakes her head. “She has been incarcerated twice. Perhaps it happened then. Or during a demonstration.”

Incarceration. Demonstrations erupting into violence. Laeta has heard some of it – of women starving themselves, of women being force-fed, of the misconduct of policemen.

“You told me once this was not dangerous,” Laeta says.

“It will not be,” Kore says. “Not for you. Not all of us partake in the dangerous activities. There are other ways to make a difference.”

“Perhaps I want to partake in everything,” Laeta says and Kore smiles.

“She sure can stir fire in one’s heart, can she not?” she says.

“She is not the only one,” Laeta says and takes Kore’s hand in hers.

 

Laeta keeps the pamphlets and posters beneath her mattress – surreptitiously handing them out to trustworthy women at gatherings and dinners and putting them up on street corners whenever she can do it without being seen – but of course her mother finds out anyway.

“I knew that Abbott girl would cause trouble!” her mother says as she storms into Laeta’s room, a pamphlet proclaiming ten reasons in favour of women’s suffrage clutched in her hand. “I forbid you to partake in this!”

“Then I will not listen you,” Laeta says, raising her chin. “How did you get hold of that?”

“Lady Seppia,” her mother says. “How stupid of you to give one to her – you know how much that girl loves to gossip. You are ruining your life, Laeta!”

“No, mother,” Laeta says. “Quite the opposite.”

Rebecca shakes her head. “Your father’s inheritance will not last us forever, Laeta. You need a husband. _This_ will not improve your chances.”

“What do I care for that?” Laeta asks, all of a sudden enraged.

Apparently realising it a battle that cannot be won with angry words, Rebecca walks over to Laeta and puts her hands on her shoulders. “Darling, I know what you are experiencing right now. You are young and you want to change the world. But it will not happen, my dear. This,” she holds up the pamphlet, “will never be allowed. Those who hold power do not relinquish it freely. You are my daughter and I will ensure that your future is secure, even if it means seeing you to an unhappy union.”

“But don’t you see, mother?” Laeta says, willing her mother to understand. Things are different now. They _will_ be different. “If we succeed, I will not need a husband. I can make my own happiness.”

“All you will do is end up hurt,” Rebecca says. “Please tell me you will abandon this.”

“I cannot,” Laeta says. “I know you want the best for my, mother, but this _is_ the future. I have to believe that.”

“And if you are wrong? Is disgrace the price you are willing to pay?”

Laeta raises her chin. “It is.”

Her mother nods and her hands squeeze Laeta’s shoulders. “I will not support you in this,” she says. “But neither will I hinder you.”

 

Laeta sits bolt upright in bed as the sound – as if a knock on the window – comes for the second time. Her heart pounds, but curiosity gets the better of her and so she gets out of bed and dashes over to the window. In the dim light of the lamppost outside she sees Kore.

Hurriedly, she opens the window to let her in.

“What are you doing here?” she whispers as she is enveloped in Kore’s arms. “Has something happened?”

“Not to me,” Kore says into Laeta’s hair. “The demonstration did not end well. I do not know how many was arrested, but Mira and Belesa was among them. Naevia is trying to get them free.”

Mira, Belesa, Naevia. These are women Laeta knows, from meetings held wherever they can find room and heated discussions lasting long into the night. Women who might die, or end up hurt. It is a hard price they pay.

“What can we do?”

“Nothing at the moment,” Kore replies. “Just… let me stay with you.”

“Yes, of course,” Laeta says.

She wants to ask more, wants to make up a plan, wants to storm out into the night to set them free, wants to do _something_ , but Kore seems weary so all she does is fetch a nightgown for her and goes back to bed as Kore changes behind the screen.

“I am glad you are well,” Laeta says into the darkness as Kore slides into bed.

“I just wish I knew the others were as well,” Kore says. Her hand finds Laeta’s underneath the covers and twines their fingers together. Laeta shifts until there are but inches between them, the lure of Kore’s warmth irresistible.

“I should not have dragged you into this,” Kore says after a long moment of silence.

“You did not,” Laeta says. “I want to be part of this.”

“It could destroy you,” Kore says, all but echoing her mother’s words.

“As it could you,” Laeta says, a little sharply.

“Unlike you, I have little to lose,” Kore says.

In sudden anger, Laeta says. “And what do I have to lose? Expensive dresses? Invitations to fancy parties? My maid? A future husband I do not want?”

“Do not dismiss those things so easily,” Kore says. “You have never lived without them and will not know how important they are until they are gone.”

“They are not important to me,” Laeta says, tersely. “ _You_ are the only thing that is important to me.” It is not true. There are many things that are important to Laeta, besides Kore: the cause, her mother, her newly-found friends. But right in that moment, Kore is all that matters.

Silence. “You should not speak of such things,” Kore whispers.

“Why?” Laeta says, feeling close to tears as the anger evaporates. “Because it is the truth?”

The touch of Kore’s mouth against hers is a shock and Laeta makes a rough sound at the feel of it. She has thought of this, dreamed of this, and still she never expected it to happen. Her hands moves up to cup Kore’s face as she returns the kiss and something starts swelling inside of her and does not stop, not even after the kiss breaks.

They lie there, nose to nose, breathing heavily for a long moment. Then Laeta feels the fabric of her nightgown move against her leg as Kore slowly – as if afraid she is afraid Laeta will startle – pulls it up. The tips of her fingers are soft like a whisper against Laeta’s thigh.

Laeta swallows thickly and kisses Kore again, slow and deliberately, before sitting up and pulling the nightgown off. Kore does not move, not until Laeta takes her hand and places it against her own ribs, closing her eyes at the feel of Kore’s touch against her naked skin.

When Kore’s mouth is on her again, there is wetness as she runs her tongue across Laeta’s lips, wetness as the taste of Kore steals inside her mouth. There is wetness between Laeta’s legs as well, slick and hot, and her skin feels too tight all over. It is hard to breathe, as if the air is all gone – there is nothing in the world in that moment but for Kore. Kore settling over her, moving against her, her hands all over Laeta’s body, their breasts pressed together. Kore’s mouth on hers, her scent in Laeta’s sheets, the feel of their tangled limbs.

With morning comes clarity – and reality. She and Kore are the dearest of friends, as close as sisters. It is all they will ever be, but it is not enough to describe what fills her chest every time she lays eyes on Kore, hears her voice, or feels her touch. Sisters do not surrender their hearts to each other.

But she does not care. Instead she leans in and kisses Kore, again and again, wishing to keep her taste forever upon her lips.

 

The sun is high overhead and between the fabric of her dress and her skin, Laeta can feel how pearls of sweat are gathering. In the corner of her eye, there are policemen and they seem dark and menacing in their uniforms.

It is broad daylight and Laeta stands out in the streets, surrounded by women – stands there as one of them. Suffragettes, they have named them, and they laughed as they did so, laughed at the ridiculousness of their demands and their fight. Laeta hopes that they soon will choke on their laughter and their words. _Today_ , she thinks, _we are here and we are many and we will not be stopped._

Kore stands beside her, the swell of their skirts hiding their linked hands from view. Laeta turns her head to look at her, resolve etched in every line of her beloved face, and she thinks, _We will win this_.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://wariangle.tumblr.com/)!


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